


Kill Not the Moth nor Butterfly

by within_a_dream



Series: Revelations [1]
Category: Benjamin January Mysteries - Barbara Hambly
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Gen, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4422497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/pseuds/within_a_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is fall 1832, and New Orleans has long since fallen to hordes of the undead. Rose Vitrac has built herself a home in a wreck of a city, and after an encounter in a bookstore, this home gains one more resident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill Not the Moth nor Butterfly

The bookshop had been beautiful, before the world ended. There was still a sad, disheveled grace to it now, windows shattered but gilded spines still lining the shelves. No one had much need of books, besides Rose and her students. She often found herself wandering back, drawn to the strange beauty of books without readers. There were also practical concerns, of course—the library of the house they’d laid claim to lacked any mathematical texts, and Isabel had shown a new interest in geometry. She suspected it was motivated out of grief for her lost classmates rather than a passion for mathematics, but that only added to her determination to find a copy of Euclid’s _Elements_.

Perhaps it was foolish to put such value in education, rather than focusing solely on survival. Books wouldn’t be able to save them from the walking dead, or feed them, or treat their scrapes and bruises—at least not the books Rose sought out. But she felt that to forget these interests would be tantamount to forgetting her humanity, and besides, what would her girls do all day if they didn’t have their lessons to occupy them? Cora didn’t quite understand Rose’s motivations, but she was always kind enough to come along on her trips to the bookshop.

This was her fourth trip in as many weeks, and she’d never encountered another person. Not a living person, at least, although they’d had to take care of a few of the dead on the first journey there. But when she drew close to the building this time, she could hear a fiddle’s melody echoing from inside.

“Careful, Rose,” Cora said, gripping her arm.

“The dead can’t make music,” Rose replied.

Cora left her rebuttal unspoken, but Rose knew what it would be. _The dead ain’t the only monsters in this city._ She couldn’t believe, though, that someone who could make such beautiful music as this could be cruel.

She smiled at Rose, the same exasperated smile that Rose remembered from their childhood. “I’ll stay out here, scare any corpses off. You take care. Keep your sword out, at least.”

“I always do.”

The fiddler was seated in the far corner of the bookstore, looking quite the man out of time—long hair pulled back into a plait, and wearing a suit that would have been a decade out of date even before the apocalypse. “I don’t see many people here,” he said, the melody he played weaving around his words.

Rose looked at the belongings gathered around him. “Are you planning to live here? This building is essentially indefensible, and there are no good sources of supplies—”

“If I may be honest with you, madame,” he said, voice soft, “I’d planned to die here. You’ve seen what the world’s come to.”

She saw the hopelessness in his eyes, and felt it as if it were her own. “It’s not as bad as that.”

“ _Fiat iustitia, et pereat mundus._  Or perhaps it should be _Fiat fatum_ , although in my case I believe they’re one and the same. This new world is a harsh place, and I wasn’t made to survive it. Those who live in the city now are strong, and it seems I’m too weak even to put myself out of my misery of my own volition. But the dead will find me, and at least I’ll die with company.” He waved his hand at the bookshelves surrounding them.

Rose remembered a bitter taste on her tongue, and the hazy weeks that followed of slipping in and out of awareness as Cora cared for her. “I’m a schoolteacher. My students have found themselves in need of new books, and I’d hoped to find some math texts here. We’re not all granite under our armor out there.” She knelt down. “You’re welcome to come home with us, if you’d like.” Cora would kill her for inviting a strange man home with them. Rose knew exactly what she would say: _You can’t just go taking people in off the street, Rose. And how’ll we_ feed _him? We hardly eat enough ourselves._ But she couldn’t just leave him to die.

“You should know that I’d grown accustomed to certain vices before the world ended, vices that aren’t easy to give up. I’ve only just begun to feel the effects, and if I live, it won’t be a pleasant few weeks for me. Or for you, I imagine.”

_If I live_. He spoke as if he imagined Rose could leave him to be devoured. “We’ll make do.”

“I’ve nothing to offer save my fiddle.”

She laughed. “You certainly can’t be less help than my current charges.”

He shrugged and began to gather his things, and as much as Rose wanted to talk the doubt out of his expression, she knew it wouldn’t do any good. As he stood up, a weak smile flickered across his face. “Ah, we haven’t been introduced! Hannibal Sefton, at your service.”

It was then that the shop’s door clattered open, and Cora called out, “You found your books yet, Rose?”

“I’m in the back, Cora. I’ve met someone.”

Cora raised an eyebrow when she saw Hannibal. “This our fiddler?”

“He’ll be coming back to the house with us.”

“Oh, will he now?” But there was no bite to Cora’s words; she’d seen the look in Rose’s eyes. “And does our guest have a name?”

“Hannibal Sefton,” he said, bowing again. Cora laughed.

“Ain’t no need for that. Rose, you find your books?”

“It will just be a moment.” She found the Euclid easily, and picked up a few history texts as well (Genevieve would appreciate the new material).

 

The girls took to Hannibal immediately, surrounding and interrogating him until Rose noticed his hands shaking and led him up to an empty bedroom.

She made sure he was well cared for. He thrashed and swore and vomited up precious rations, but remembering the long and painful days Cora had helped her through, Rose was kind.

One day, face flushed with fever, Hannibal told her, “You didn’t have to save me.”

“I did.” Rose smoothed down her skirt, fighting past her panic to look him in the eye. “I know what it’s like to feel you’d be better off dead. And while I can’t speak for you, I know that I regretted my actions.” He didn’t ask, but she saw the question in his eyes. “It was long before the dead rose. I was…attacked, by a man living on the family plantation. My father thought it would be best for me to marry him; I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Ah.” Hannibal leaned his head back against the pillow. “I’m sorry.”

“Cora nursed me through it. I hated her for it at the time, but she saved me.”

“Just as you saved me. I owe you my life, Rose.”

She laughed. “You owe me nothing more than help with lessons once you’re recovered—the girls could use a fresh face, I think.” It was strange, how after a week or two he already felt to her like a part of the family they’d built among the wreckage of New Orleans. With any luck, he’d feel at home here as well.

That night, propped up in the sitting room and playing folk songs on his fiddle as the rest of them sang along, it seemed he already might.

**Author's Note:**

> The title was borrowed from William Blake's "Auguries of Innocence". Hannibal's quote, _Fiat iustitia, et pereat mundus_ , is the motto of Ferdinand I, Holy Roman Emperor, and means "Let justice be done, although the world perish." His modification makes it "Let fate be done..." He (and I) have taken it wildly out of context, for which I hope you'll forgive me.
> 
> (This is meant to take place the fall before Ben returns to New Orleans; please let me know if I got the year wrong in the summary!)
> 
> EDIT: Forgot to mention that this is a fill for "suicide attempt" for my hurt comfort bingo card!)


End file.
